


Maker's Grace, Mythal's Blessing

by adrift_me



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Blackwall's Post-Judgement, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, they are soft and I love them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26085877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: Blackwall questions if the Inquisitor truly wants him back after pardoning him during judgement. All his fears disappear in a kiss and, maybe, a god's blessing.
Relationships: Blackwall/Female Inquisitor, Blackwall/Lavellan (Dragon Age)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Maker's Grace, Mythal's Blessing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my Lavellan Inquisitor Sylani and Blackwall <3
> 
> [Come chat with me on tumblr :) I also take prompts!](https://a-driftamongopenstars.tumblr.com/)

The night crawls upon Skyhold, and it feels as if the castle itself has become quieter to give Blackwall and Sylani a moment of peace. The winds don’t howl and the floorboards don’t creak and people whisper instead of a lively conversation. This keep of justice, standing on top of the mountain world, is for once speechless.

Or maybe it is the noise in Blackwall’s head that muffles out the sounds with anxiety.

He stands in her room, the room he has spent many nights in, snuggling by the fire, waxing poetics, making love. They have counted stars on her balcony and shared bottles of whatever brew they could find to warm up in the fire. How many times he undressed her to worship her, and how often did she undress him to welcome him in her arms?

Now he stands there, fully clothed and trembling just a little in anticipation and fear of a conversation. Sylani’s words still ring in his head, her pardon of his crimes. That he stands here, uncuffed and unjailed, a free man, could only be by the Maker’s grace upon Inquisitor. Or a gesture of her gods, deeming him amicable.

Would she change her mind? Was the speech in Skyhold just a rush of emotions and a moment?

The door creaks, and Blackwall’s gaze falls upon his beloved.

“Blackwall,” Sylani speaks, stepping out of the closet room, a comfortable outfit streaming down her body in silks and satin. He cannot help but admire her, down and up to her eyes, narrow and bright and blue like lakes. But as their eyes meet, he looks away in shame and embarrassment.

“My lady,” he replies, shifting weight from one foot to another, unsure of how welcome his presence is.

She steps closer and closer until her hands come to rest on his chest. Her fingers curl into the front of his coat, he can feel the fabric taut in her hold, and then the impossible happens.

Sylani pulls on the coat, pulls him down, so that she can press her lips to his, and that moment Blackwall’s world finally finds purchase.

“I didn’t pardon you to stand here as if we have never met before,” she whispers, smoothing out the fabric of his coat. “I pardoned you as a man who atoned. And as a man I love.”

Blackwall looks at the Inquisitor, lips still tingling from the softness of her mouth. If he were to get addicted to something, it would be the way she kisses, most certainly. Or to her voice, akin to velvet. Or to her touch, sometimes cruel, sometimes merciful. He is rather addicted to her entirely.

“Blackwall?” she touches his cheek, bringing him to reality. “Or Thom Rainier?”

“Thom would suffice, my lady. Sylani…”

He catches her hand that so playfully touches his beard and presses her palm to his cheek. In the Inquisitor’s arms he feels safe. He wants to keep  _ her  _ safe, too.

Fire crackles quietly in the fireplace, and a candle flickers, shadows dancing on the stone laid wall. He pays no mind to the games of fire, all his gaze is upon Sylani.

And hers on him.

“Come to bed with me, Thom,” she whispers, guiding his hands to embrace her, and he follows, strong arms wrapping around Sylani.

“I love you,” he says in response, feeling his eyes go blind from affection and his heart stop but for a second of time. He wants to do many things to tell of his love, he wants to cry it from the balcony, but it is so much more important to say it here, in this room, behind closed doors.

“I love you too, Thom,” Sylani replies, pulling him into another kiss.

Blackwall, Thom Rainier, wouldn’t leave her room for the night again from that day onwards.


End file.
